Thank You
by NDLMongoose
Summary: House looks back on the past few months. Set in Christmas Time, Post Season 8. House/Wilson friendship.


Disclaimer: House MD is property of David Shore and Fox.

_A short one-shot I wrote last night in about an hour as the first snow fell. _

_Summary: House looks back on the past few months. Set in Christmas Time, Post Season 8. House/Wilson friendship. _

His beard is thicker now, he notices.

House sits in the library, scratching at the pepper and salt whiskers that line his face. Absent mindedly reading the random titles and encyclopedias that surround him. Pity, such a genius and maverick mind having been reduced to this. People wander by and see the vagabond, and hurry along their way. House only lets out a small smile, and continues his own observations.

It's been eight months since the initial diagnosis, and two months since, well, House didn't like to admit it. Not even to himself.

Naturally (and as House expected) Wilson went out of his way to make sure House would be happy, and at least comfortable after he passed, cancer hadn't robbed that much of his personality. He had a place, a small one mind you, but still a residence none the less, and even a small job at this little library. Wilson had managed to leave him all the money he could ask for, and House could not have been more grateful.

He'd be lying if he didn't say he didn't try. Even after everything he did, his old habits died hard. On some days he would try to gently coax Wilson into more chemo, it was never blunt or forced, just gentle suggestions. Wilson seemed to be aware of this, and would always softly, but never with any hesitation would change the subject and House just inwardly sigh. On dark nights in September and early October, when Wilson coughed and tossed in his sleep, House would scour medical texts and even the _internet _for some sort of answer to help his friend. He felt terrible; he was a genius medical mind, perhaps the best in the world. He had saved thousands of lives, and found answers to the most impossible questions, but he couldn't even save his best friend.

At these times he wondered was this what he had done during his own (faked) cancer scare? Is this what he put Wilson through? He gritted his teeth, but Chase, Foreman, Cameron, and even Cuddy?

Cuddy's own cancer scare was different. He was nervous, anxious; he couldn't bare the sight of her in a hospital bed, possibly near death. When it was all benign, then he thought it would be all over. Everyone knew what happened after that. He was determined not to repeat that mistake.

It's snowing outside, and he finds it interesting how the frozen drops of water falling from the sky can make everything in his vision seem so clean and pure. He doesn't find it mystifying, liberating or poetic or anything like that. He just finds it interesting. He's read a collection of poems by _Robert Frost _a dozen times by now, and he's already stashed several medical texts, Sherlock Holmes collections and several other pieces of printed works throughout the library for his own entertainment.

It's the afternoon, and he still has several hours on his shift. He hobbles over to the children's section, and listens as a Christmas story is read to toddlers and their mothers. After the story, the children start creating paper snowflakes to hang on the library Christmas tree, and still he just watches. Some of the mothers, which House could tell were all first time parents, turn their kids away from him. But one brave soul ventures over, and gives him a piece of paper and a crayon.

"Thank you", he says.

"You're welcome" the girl says with a smile, he just notices he's seen her several times.

"Sorry, but what happened to your leg?"

The age-old question causes the ruffian to wince, and narrow his eyes. He unconsciously moves a hand over the indent, the scar is still there. However all of the negativity is melted when he sees the girl is still smiling, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Maybe I'll tell you kids one day during one of those story times, go back to your mom" he says, and shoos her away.

He creates a perfect snowflake, because that's just how he is, everything has to be perfect. He inscribes a small message into it. He briefly ponders how weird and stupid this gesture is, but surprisingly he finds that he doesn't really care. He hangs the snowflakes up in the back, and grabs one of the candy canes, yet another smile curling at his lips.

_It's my first Christmas without you. Thanks for giving my life a purpose. _

_P.S. Say hi to cutthroat bitch for me!_


End file.
